Hercule Poirot - Christie Agatha (лучшие книги без регистрации TXT) 📗

‘What would you do to your enemy?’

He started-stared at her, then laughed aloud.

‘I wonder-’ he said. ‘I wonder!’

Pilar said disapprovingly:

‘But surely-you know.’

He checked his laughter, drew in his breath and said in a low voice:

‘Yes. I know…’

Then with a rapid change of manner, he asked:

‘What made you come to England?’ 

Pilar replied with a certain demureness.

‘I am going to stay with my relations-with my English relations.’

‘I see.’

He leaned back in his seat, studying her-wondering what these English relations of whom she spoke were like-wondering what they would make of this Spanish stranger…trying to picture her in the midst of some sober British family at Christmas time.

Pilar asked: ‘Is it nice, South Africa, yes?’

He began to talk to her about South Africa. She listened with the pleased attention of a child hearing a story. He enjoyed her naive but shrewd questions and amused himself by making a kind of exaggerated fairy story of it all.

The return of the proper occupants of the carriage put an end to this diversion. He rose, smiled into her eyes, and made his way out again into the corridor.

As he stood back for a minute in the doorway, to allow an elderly lady to come in, his eyes fell on the label of Pilar’s obviously foreign straw case. He read the name with interest-Miss Pilar Estravados-then as his eye caught the address it widened to incredulity and some other feeling-Gorston Hall, Longdale, Addlesfield.

He half turned, staring at the girl with a new expression-puzzled, resentful, suspicious…He went out into the corridor and stood there smoking a cigarette and frowning to himself…

In the big blue and gold drawing-room at Gorston Hall Alfred Lee and Lydia, his wife, sat discussing their plans for Christmas. Alfred was a squarely built man of middle age with a gentle face and mild brown eyes. His voice when he spoke was quiet and precise with a very clear enunciation. His head was sunk into his shoulders and he gave a curious impression of inertia. Lydia, his wife, was an energetic, lean greyhound of a woman. She was amazingly thin, but all her movements had a swift, startled grace about them.

There was no beauty in her careless, haggard face, but it had distinction. Her voice was charming.

Alfred said:

‘Father insists! There’s nothing else to it.’

Lydia controlled a sudden impatient movement. She said:

‘Must you always give in to him?’

‘He’s a very old man, my dear-’

‘Oh, I know-I know!’

‘He expects to have his own way.’

Lydia said dryly: 

‘Naturally, since he has always had it! But some time or other, Alfred, you will have to make a stand.’

‘What do you mean, Lydia?’

He stared at her, so palpably upset and startled, that for a moment she bit her lip and seemed doubtful whether to go on.

Alfred Lee repeated:

‘What do you mean, Lydia?’

She shrugged her thin, graceful shoulders.

She said, trying to choose her words cautiously:

‘Your father is-inclined to be-tyrannical-’

‘He’s old.’

‘And will grow older. And consequently more tyrannical. Where will it end? Already he dictates our lives to us completely. We can’t make a plan of our own! If we do, it is always liable to be upset.’

Alfred said:

‘Father expects to come first. He is very good to us, remember.’

‘Oh! good to us!’

‘Verygood to us.’

Alfred spoke with a trace of sternness.

‘Lydia said calmly:

‘You mean financially?’

‘Yes. His own wants are very simple. But he never grudges us money. You can spend what you like on dress and on this house, and the bills are paid without a murmur. He gave us a new car only last week.’

‘As far as money goes, your father is very generous, I admit,’ said Lydia. ‘But in return he expects us to behave like slaves.’

‘Slaves?’

‘That’s the word I used. Youare his slave, Alfred. If we have planned to go away and Father suddenly wishes us not to go, you cancel your arrangements and remain without a murmur! If the whim takes him to send us away, we go…We have no lives of our own-no independence.’

Her husband said distressfully:

‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like this, Lydia. It is very ungrateful. My father has done everything for us…’

She bit off a retort that was on her lips. She shrugged those thin, graceful shoulders once more.

Alfred said:

‘You know, Lydia, the old man is very fond of you-’

His wife said clearly and distinctly:

‘I am not at all fond of him.’

‘Lydia, it distresses me to hear you say things like that. It is so unkind-’

‘Perhaps. But sometimes a compulsion comes over one to speak the truth.’

‘If Father guessed-’ 

‘Your father knows perfectly well that I do not like him! It amuses him, I think.’

‘Really, Lydia, I am sure you are wrong there. He has often told me how charming your manner to him is.’

‘Naturally I’ve always been polite. I always shall be. I’m just letting you know what my real feelings are. I dislike your father, Alfred. I think he is a malicious and tyrannical old man. He bullies you and presumes on your affection for him. You ought to have stood up to him years ago.’

Alfred said sharply:

‘That will do, Lydia. Please don’t say any more.’

She sighed.

‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I was wrong…Let’s talk of our Christmas arrangements. Do you think your brother David will really come?’

‘Why not?’

She shook her head doubtfully.

‘David is-queer. He’s not been inside the house for years, remember. He was so devoted to your mother-he’s got some feeling about this place.’

‘David always got on Father’s nerves,’ said Alfred, ‘with his music and his dreamy ways. Father was, perhaps, a bit hard on him sometimes. But I think David and Hilda will come all right. Christmas time, you know.’

‘Peace and goodwill,’ said Lydia. Her delicate mouth curved ironically. ‘I wonder! George and Magdalene are coming. They said they would probably arrive tomorrow. I’m afraid Magdalene will be frightfully bored.’

Alfred said with some slight annoyance:

‘Why my brother George ever married a girl twenty years younger than himself I can’t think! George was always a fool!’

‘He’s very successful in his career,’ said Lydia. ‘His constituents like him. I believe Magdalene works quite hard politically for him.’

Alfred said slowly:

‘I don’t think I like her very much. She is very good-looking-but I sometimes think she is like one of those beautiful pears one gets-they have a rosy flush and a rather waxen appearance-’ He shook his head.

‘And they’re bad inside?’ said Lydia. ‘How funny you should say that, Alfred!’

‘Why funny?’

She answered:

‘Because-usually-you are such a gentle soul. You hardly ever say an unkind thing about anyone. I get annoyed with you sometimes because you’re not sufficiently-oh, what shall I say?-sufficiently suspicious-not worldly enough!’

Her husband smiled. 

‘The world, I always think, is as you yourself make it.’

Lydia said sharply:

‘No! Evil is not only in one’s mind. Evil exists!You seem to have no consciousness of the evil in the world. I have. I can feel it. I’ve always felt it-here in this house-’ She bit her lip and turned away.

Alfred said, ‘Lydia-’

But she raised a quick admonitory hand, her eyes looking past him at something over his shoulder. Alfred turned.

A dark man with a smooth face was standing there deferentially.

Lydia said sharply:

‘What is it, Horbury?’

Horbury’s voice was low, a mere deferential murmur.

‘It’s Mr Lee, madam. He asked me to tell you that there would be two more guests arriving for Christmas, and would you have rooms prepared for them.’

Lydia said, ‘Two more guests?’

Horbury said smoothly, ‘Yes, madam, another gentleman and a young lady.’

Alfred said wonderingly: ‘A young lady?’

‘That’s what Mr Lee said, sir.’

Lydia said quickly:

‘I will go up and see him-’ 

Horbury made one little step, it was a mere ghost of a movement but it stopped Lydia’s rapid progress automatically.

‘Excuse me, madam, but Mr Lee is having his afternoon sleep. He asked specifically that he should not be disturbed.’

‘I see,’ said Alfred. ‘Of course we won’t disturb him.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Horbury withdrew.

Lydia said vehemently:

‘How I dislike that man! He creeps about the house like a cat! One never hears him going or coming.’

‘I don’t like him very much either. But he knows his job. It’s not so easy to get a good male nurse attendant. And Father likes him, that’s the main thing.’

‘Yes, that’s the main thing, as you say. Alfred, what is this about a young lady? What young lady?’

Her husband shook his head.

‘I can’t imagine. I can’t even think of anyone it might be likely to be.’

They stared at each other. Then Lydia said, with a sudden twist of her expressive mouth:

‘Do you know what I think, Alfred?’

‘What?’

‘I think your father has been bored lately. I think he is planning a little Christmas diversion for himself.’ 

‘By introducing two strangers into a family gathering?’

‘Oh! I don’t know what the details are-but I do fancy that your father is preparing to-amuse himself.’

‘I hope hewill get some pleasure out of it,’ said Alfred gravely. ‘Poor old chap, tied by the leg, an invalid-after the adventurous life he has led.’

Lydia said slowly:

‘After the-adventurous life he has led.’

The pause she made before the adjective gave it some special though obscure significance. Alfred seemed to feel it. He flushed and looked unhappy.

She cried out suddenly:

‘How he ever had a son like you, I can’t imagine! You two are poles apart. And he fascinates you-you simply worship him!’

Alfred said with a trace of vexation:

‘Aren’t you going a little far, Lydia? It’s natural, I should say, for a son to love his father. It would be very unnatural not to do so.’

Lydia said: